BARNABAS. If they force me to it I will obtain legislation againstmarriages above the age of seventy-eight.

THE ARCHBISHOP. There is not time for that before we are married, MrAccountant General. Be good enough to get out of the lady's way.

BARNABAS. There is time to send the lady to the lethal chamber beforeanything comes of your marriage. Dont forget that.

MRS LUTESTRING. What nonsense, Mr Accountant General! Good afternoon,Mr President. Good afternoon, Mr Chief Secretary. [_They rise andacknowledge her salutation with bows. She walks straight at theAccountant General, who instinctively shrinks out of her way as sheleaves the room_].

THE ARCHBISHOP. I am surprised at you, Mr Barnabas. Your tone was likean echo from the Dark Ages. [_He follows the Domestic Minister_].

_Confucius, shaking his head and clucking with his tongue in deprecationof this painful episode, moves to the chair just vacated by theArchbishop and stands behind it with folded palms, looking at thePresident. The Accountant General shakes his fist after the departedvisitors, and bursts into savage abuse of them._

BARNABAS. Thieves! Cursed thieves! Vampires! What are you going to do,Burge?

BURGE-LUBIN. Do?

BARNABAS. Yes, do. There must be dozens of these people in existence.Are you going to let them do what the two who have just left us mean todo, and crowd us off the face of the earth?

BURGE-LUBIN [_sitting down_] Oh, come, Barnabas! What harm are theydoing? Arnt you interested in them? Dont you like them?

BARNABAS. Like them! I hate them. They are monsters, unnatural monsters.They are poison to me.

BURGE-LUBIN. What possible objection can there be to their living aslong as they can? It does not shorten our lives, does it?

BARNABAS. If I have to die when I am seventy-eight, I don't seewhy another man should be privileged to live to be two hundred andseventy-eight. It does shorten my life, relatively. It makes usridiculous. If they grew to be twelve feet high they would make us alldwarfs. They talked to us as if we were children. There is no love lostbetween us: their hatred of us came out soon enough. You heard what thewoman said, and how the Archbishop backed her up?

BURGE-LUBIN. But what can we do to them?

BARNABAS. Kill them.

BURGE-LUBIN. Nonsense!

BARNABAS. Lock them up. Sterilize them somehow, anyhow.

BURGE-LUBIN. But what reason could we give?

BARNABAS. What reason can you give for killing a snake? Nature tells youto do it.

BURGE-LUBIN. My dear Barnabas, you are out of your mind.

BARNABAS. Havnt you said that once too often already this morning?

BURGE-LUBIN. I don't believe you will carry a single soul with you.

BARNABAS. I understand. I know you. You think you are one of them.

CONFUCIUS. Mr Accountant General: you may be one of them.

BARNABAS. How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am an honest man,not a monster. I won my place in public life by demonstrating that thetrue expectation of human life is seventy-eight point six. And I willresist any attempt to alter or upset it to the last drop of my blood ifneed be.

BURGE-LUBIN. Oh, tut tut! Come, come! Pull yourself together. How canyou, a descendant of the great Conrad Barnabas, the man who is stillremembered by his masterly Biography of a Black Beetle, be so absurd?

BARNABAS. You had better go and write the autobiography of a jackass. Iam going to raise the country against this horror, and against you, ifyou shew the slightest sign of weakness about it.

CONFUCIUS [_very impressively_] You will regret it if you do.

BARNABAS. What is to make me regret it?

CONFUCIUS. Every mortal man and woman in the community will begin tocount on living for three centuries. Things will happen which you do notforesee: terrible things. The family will dissolve: parents and childrenwill be no longer the old and the young: brothers and sisters will meetas strangers after a hundred years separation: the ties of blood willlose their innocence. The imaginations of men, let loose over thepossibilities of three centuries of life, will drive them mad and wreckhuman society. This discovery must be kept a dead secret. [_He sitsdown_].

BARNABAS. And if I refuse to keep the secret?

CONFUCIUS. I shall have you safe in a lunatic asylum the day after youblab.

BARNABAS. You forget that I can produce the Archbishop to prove mystatement.

CONFUCIUS. So can I. Which of us do you think he will support when Iexplain to him that your object in revealing his age is to get himkilled?

BARNABAS [_desperate_] Burge: are you going to back up this yellowabomination against me? Are we public men and members of the Government?or are we damned blackguards?

CONFUCIUS [_unmoved_] Have you ever known a public man who was not whatvituperative people called a damned blackguard when some inconsiderateperson wanted to tell the public more than was good for it?

BURGE-LUBIN. Well, you know, my dear Barnabas, Confucius is a verylong-headed chap. I see his point.

BARNABAS. Do you? Then let me tell you that, except officially, I willnever speak to you again. Do you hear?

BURGE-LUBIN [_cheerfully_] You will. You will.

BARNABAS. And don't you ever dare speak to me again. Do you hear? [_Heturns to the door_].

BURGE-LUBIN. I will. I will. Goodbye, Barnabas. God bless you.

BARNABAS. May you live forever, and be the laughingstock of the wholeworld! [_he dashes out in a fury_].

BURGE-LUBIN [_laughing indulgently_] He will keep the secret all right.I know Barnabas. You neednt worry.

CONFUCIUS [_troubled and grave_] There are no secrets except the secretsthat keep themselves. Consider. There are those films at the RecordOffice. We have no power to prevent the Master of the Records frompublishing this discovery made in his department. We cannot silence theAmerican--who can silence an American?--nor the people who were theretoday to receive him. Fortunately, a film can prove nothing but aresemblance.

BURGE-LUBIN. Thats very true. After all, the whole thing is confoundednonsense, isnt it?

CONFUCIUS [_raising his head to look at him_] You have decided not tobelieve it now that you realize its inconveniences. That is the Englishmethod. It may not work in this case.

BURGE-LUBIN. English be hanged! It's common sense. You know, those twopeople got us hypnotized: not a doubt of it. They must have been kiddingus. They were, werent they?

CONFUCIUS. You looked into that woman's face; and you believed.

BURGE-LUBIN. Just so. Thats where she had me. I shouldn't have believedher a bit if she'd turned her back to me.

CONFUCIUS [_shakes his head slowly and repeatedly_]???

BURGE-LUBIN. You really think--? [_he hesitates_].

CONFUCIUS. The Archbishop has always been a puzzle to me. Ever sinceI learnt to distinguish between one English face and another I havenoticed what the woman pointed out: that the English face is not anadult face, just as the English mind is not an adult mind.

BURGE-LUBIN. Stow it, John Chinaman. If ever there was a race divinelyappointed to take charge of the non-adult races and guide them and trainthem and keep them out of mischief until they grow up to be capable ofadopting our institutions, that race is the English race. It is the onlyrace in the world that has that characteristic. Now!

CONFUCIUS. That is the fancy of a child nursing a doll. But it is tentimes more childish of you to dispute the highest compliment ever paidyou.

BURGE-LUBIN. You call it a compliment to class us as grown-up children.

CONFUCIUS. Not grown-up children, children at fifty, sixty, seventy.Your maturity is so late that you never attain to it. You have to begoverned by races which are mature at forty. That means that you arepotentially the most highly developed race on earth, and would beactually the greatest if you could live long enough to attain tomaturity.

BURGE-LUBIN [_grasping the idea at last_] By George, Confucius, youreright! I never thought of that. That explains everything. We are justa lot of schoolboys: theres no denying it. Talk to an Englishman aboutanything serious, and he listens to you curiously for a moment just ashe listens to a chap playing classical music. Then he goes back tohis marine golf, or motoring, or flying, or women, just like a bit ofstretched elastic when you let it go. [_Soaring to the height of histheme_] Oh, youre quite right. We are only in our infancy. I ought tobe in a perambulator, with a nurse shoving me along. It's true: it'sabsolutely true. But some day we'll grow up; and then, by Jingo, we'llshew em.

CONFUCIUS. The Archbishop is an adult. When I was a child I wasdominated and intimidated by people whom I now know to have been weakerand sillier than I, because there was some mysterious quality in theirmere age that overawed me. I confess that, though I have kept upappearances, I have always been afraid of the Archbishop.

BURGE-LUBIN. Between ourselves, Confucius, so have I.

CONFUCIUS. It is this that convinced me. It was this in the woman's facethat convinced you. Their new departure in the history of the race is nofraud. It does not even surprise me.

BURGE-LUBIN. Oh, come! Not surprise you! It's your pose never to besurprised at anything; but if you are not surprised at this you are nothuman.

CONFUCIUS. I am staggered, just as a man may be staggered by anexplosion for which he has himself laid the charge and lighted the fuse.But I am not surprised, because, as a philosopher and a student ofevolutionary biology, I have come to regard some such development asthis as inevitable. If I had not thus prepared myself to be credulous,no mere evidence of films and well-told tales would have persuaded me tobelieve. As it is, I do believe.

BURGE-LUBIN. Well, that being settled, what the devil is to happen next?Whats the next move for us?

CONFUCIUS. We do not make the next move. The next move will be made bythe Archbishop and the woman.

BURGE-LUBIN. Their marriage?

CONFUCIUS. More than that. They have made the momentous discovery thatthey are not alone in the world.

BURGE-LUBIN. You think there are others?

CONFUCIUS. There must be many others. Each of them believes that he orshe is the only one to whom the miracle has happened. But the Archbishopknows better now. He will advertise in terms which only the longlivedpeople will understand. He will bring them together and organize them.They will hasten from all parts of the earth. They will become a greatPower.

BURGE-LUBIN [_a little alarmed_] I say, will they? I suppose they will.I wonder is Barnabas right after all? Ought we to allow it?

CONFUCIUS. Nothing that we can do will stop it. We cannot in our soulsreally want to stop it: the vital force that has produced this changewould paralyse our opposition to it, if we were mad enough to oppose.But we will not oppose. You and I may be of the elect, too.

BURGE-LUBIN. Yes: thats what gets us every time. What the deuce ought weto do? Something must be done about it, you know.

CONFUCIUS. Let us sit still, and meditate in silence on the vistasbefore us.

BURGE-LUBIN. By George, I believe youre right. Let us.

_They sit meditating, the Chinaman naturally, the President with visibleeffort and intensity. He is positively glaring into the future when thevoice of the Negress is heard._

THE NEGRESS. Mr President.

BURGE-LUBIN [_joyfully_] Yes. [_Taking up a peg_] Are you at home?

THE NEGRESS. No. Omega, zero, x squared.

_The President rapidly puts the peg in the switchboard; works the dial;and presses the button. The screen becomes transparent; and the Negress,brilliantly dressed, appears on what looks like the bridge of a steamyacht in glorious sea weather. The installation with which she iscommunicating is beside the binnacle._

CONFUCIUS [_looking round, and recoiling with a shriek of disgust_] Ach!Avaunt! Avaunt! [_He rushes from the room_].

BURGE-LUBIN. What part of the coast is that?

THE NEGRESS. Fishguard Bay. Why not run over and join me for theafternoon? I am disposed to be approachable at last.

BURGE-LUBIN. But Fishguard! Two hundred and seventy miles!

THE NEGRESS. There is a lightning express on the Irish Air Service athalf-past sixteen. They will drop you by a parachute in the bay. Thedip will do you good. I will pick you up and dry you and give you afirst-rate time.

BURGE-LUBIN. Delightful. But a little risky, isnt it?

THE NEGRESS. Risky! I thought you were afraid of nothing.

BURGE-LUBIN. I am not exactly afraid; but--

THE NEGRESS [_offended_] But you think it is not good enough. Very well[_she raises her hand to take the peg out of her switchboard_].

BURGE-LUBIN. The fact is, I have been behaving very recklessly for sometime past under the impression that my life would be so short thatit was not worth bothering about. But I have just learnt that I maylive--well, much longer than I expected. I am sure your good sense willtell you that this alters the case. I--

BURGE-LUBIN [_urgently_] No: please hold on. I can convince you--[_aloud buzz-uzz-uzz_]. Engaged! Who is she calling up now? [_Represses thebutton and calls_] The Chief Secretary. Say I want to see him again,just for a moment.

CONFUCIUS'S VOICE. Is the woman gone?

BURGE-LUBIN. Yes, yes: it's all right. Just a moment, if--[_Confuciusreturns_] Confucius: I have some important business at Fishguard. TheIrish Air Service can drop me in the bay by parachute. I suppose it'squite safe, isnt it?

CONFUCIUS. Nothing is quite safe. The air service is as safe as anyother travelling service. The parachute is safe. But the water is notsafe.

BURGE-LUBIN. Why? They will give me an unsinkable tunic, wont they?

CONFUCIUS. You will not sink; but the sea is very cold. You may getrheumatism for life.

BURGE-LUBIN. For life! That settles it: I wont risk it.

CONFUCIUS. Good. You have at last become prudent: you are no longer whatyou call a sportsman: you are a sensible coward, almost a grown-up man.I congratulate you.

BURGE-LUBIN [_resolutely_] Coward or no coward, I will not face aneternity of rheumatism for any woman that ever was born. [_He rises andgoes to the rack for his fillet_] I have changed my mind: I am goinghome. [_He cocks the fillet rakishly_] Good evening.

CONFUCIUS. So early? If the Minister of Health rings you up, what shallI tell her?

_Burrin pier on the south shore of Galway Bay in Ireland, a region ofstone-capped hills and granite fields. It is a fine summer day in theyear 3000 A.D. On an ancient stone stump, about three feet thick andthree feet high, used for securing ships by ropes to the shore, andcalled a bollard or holdfast, an elderly gentleman sits facing the landwith his head bowed and his face in his hands, sobbing. His sunburntskin contrasts with his white whiskers and eyebrows. He wears a blackfrock-coat, a white waistcoat, lavender trousers, a brilliant silkcravat with a jewelled pin stuck in it, a tall hat of grey felt, andpatent leather boots with white spats. His starched linen cuffs protrudefrom his coat sleeves; and his collar, also of starched white linen, isGladstonian. On his right, three or four full sacks, lying side by sideon the flags, suggest that the pier, unlike many remote Irish piers,is occasionally useful as well as romantic. On his left, behind him, aflight of stone steps descends out of sight to the sea level.

A woman in a silk tunic and sandals, wearing little else except a capwith the number 2 on it in gold, comes up the steps from the sea, andstares in astonishment at the sobbing man. Her age cannot be guessed:her face is firm and chiselled like a young face; but her expression isunyouthful in its severity and determination._

THE WOMAN. What is the matter?

_The elderly gentleman looks up; hastily pulls himself together; takesout a silk handkerchief and dries his tears lightly with a brave attemptto smile through them; and tries to rise gallantly, but sinks back._

THE WOMAN. Do you need assistance?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. No. Thank you very much. No. Nothing. The heat.[_He punctuates with sniffs, and dabs with his handkerchief at his eyesand nose._] Hay fever.

THE WOMAN. You are a foreigner, are you not?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. No. You must not regard me as a foreigner. I am aBriton.

THE WOMAN. You come from some part of the British Commonwealth?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_amiably pompous_] From its capital, madam.

THE WOMAN. From Baghdad?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Yes. You may not be aware, madam, that theseislands were once the centre of the British Commonwealth, during aperiod now known as The Exile. They were its headquarters a thousandyears ago. Few people know this interesting circumstance now; but Iassure you it is true. I have come here on a pious pilgrimage to one ofthe numerous lands of my fathers. We are of the same stock, you and I.Blood is thicker than water. We are cousins.

THE WOMAN. I do not understand. You say you have come here on a piouspilgrimage. Is that some new means of transport?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_again shewing signs of distress_] I find itvery difficult to make myself understood here. I was not referring to amachine, but to a--a--a sentimental journey.

THE WOMAN. I am afraid I am as much in the dark as before. You said alsothat blood is thicker than water. No doubt it is; but what of it?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Its meaning is obvious.

THE WOMAN. Perfectly. But I assure you I am quite aware that blood isthicker than water.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_sniffing: almost in tears again_] We will leaveit at that, madam.

THE WOMAN [going _nearer to him and scrutinizing him with some concern_]I am afraid you are not well. Were you not warned that it is dangerousfor shortlived people to come to this country? There is a deadly diseasecalled discouragement, against which shortlived people have to take verystrict precautions. Intercourse with us puts too great a strain on them.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_pulling himself together huffily_] It has noeffect on me, madam. I fear my conversation does not interest you. Ifnot, the remedy is in your own hands.

THE WOMAN [_looking at her hands, and then looking inquiringly at him_]Where?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_nerved by indignation_] I am not ill. I havenever had a day's illness in my life.

THE WOMAN. May I advise you?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I have no need of a lady doctor, thank you,madam.

THE WOMAN [_shaking her head_] I am afraid I do not understand. I saidnothing about a butterfly.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Well, _I_ said nothing about a butterfly.

THE WOMAN. You spoke of a lady doctor. The word is known here only asthe name of a butterfly.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_insanely_] I give up. I can bear this no longer.It is easier to go out of my mind at once. [_He rises and dances about,singing_]

I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower, Making apple dumplings without any flour.

THE WOMAN [_smiling gravely_] It must be at least a hundred and fiftyyears since I last laughed. But if you do that any more I shallcertainly break out like a primary of sixty. Your dress is soextraordinarily ridiculous.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_halting abruptly in his antics_] My dressridiculous! I may not be dressed like a Foreign Office clerk; butmy clothes are perfectly in fashion in my native metropolis, whereyours--pardon my saying so--would be considered extremely unusual andhardly decent.

THE WOMAN. Decent? There is no such word in our language. What does itmean?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. It would not be decent for me to explain. Decencycannot be discussed without indecency.

THE WOMAN. I cannot understand you at all. I fear you have not beenobserving the rules laid down for shortlived visitors.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Surely, madam, they do not apply to persons of myage and standing. I am not a child, nor an agricultural laborer.

THE WOMAN [_severely_] They apply to you very strictly. You are expectedto confine yourself to the society of children under sixty. Youare absolutely forbidden to approach fully adult natives under anycircumstances. You cannot converse with persons of my age for longwithout bringing on a dangerous attack of discouragement. Do you realizethat you are already shewing grave symptoms of that very distressing andusually fatal complaint?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Certainly not, madam. I am fortunately in nodanger of contracting it. I am quite accustomed to converse intimatelyand at the greatest length with the most distinguished persons. If youcannot discriminate between hay fever and imbecility, I can only saythat your advanced years carry with them the inevitable penalty ofdotage.

THE WOMAN. I am one of the guardians of this district; and I amresponsible for your welfare--

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. The Guardians! Do you take me for a pauper?

THE WOMAN. I do not know what a pauper is. You must tell me who you are,if it is possible for you to express yourself intelligibly--

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_snorts indignantly_]!

THE WOMAN [_continuing_]--and why you are wandering here alone without anurse.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_outraged_] Nurse!

THE WOMAN. Shortlived visitors are not allowed to go about here withoutnurses. Do you not know that rules are meant to be kept?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. By the lower classes, no doubt. But to personsin my position there are certain courtesies which are never denied bywell-bred people; and--

THE WOMAN. There are only two human classes here: the shortlived andthe normal. The rules apply to the shortlived, and are for their ownprotection. Now tell me at once who you are.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_impressively_] Madam, I am a retired gentleman,formerly Chairman of the All-British Synthetic Egg and Vegetable CheeseTrust in Baghdad, and now President of the British Historical andArchaeological Society, and a Vice-President of the Travellers' Club.

THE WOMAN. All that does not matter.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_again snorting_] Hm! Indeed!

THE WOMAN. Have you been sent here to make your mind flexible?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. What an extraordinary question! Pray do you findmy mind noticeably stiff?

THE WOMAN. Perhaps you do not know that you are on the west coast ofIreland, and that it is the practice among natives of the Eastern Islandto spend some years here to acquire mental flexibility. The climate hasthat effect.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_haughtily_] I was born, not in the EasternIsland, but, thank God, in dear old British Baghdad; and I am not inneed of a mental health resort.

THE WOMAN. Then why are you here?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Am I trespassing? I was not aware of it.

THE WOMAN. Trespassing? I do not understand the word.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Is this land private property? If so, I make noclaim. I proffer a shilling in satisfaction of damage (if any), and amready to withdraw if you will be good enough to shew me the nearest way.[_He offers her a shilling_].

THE WOMAN [_taking it and examining it without much interest_] I do notunderstand a single word of what you have just said.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I am speaking the plainest English. Are you thelandlord?

THE WOMAN [_shaking her head_] There is a tradition in this part of thecountry of an animal with a name like that. It used to be hunted andshot in the barbarous ages. It is quite extinct now.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_breaking down again_] It is a dreadful thing tobe in a country where nobody understands civilized institutions. [_Hecollapses on the bollard, struggling with his rising sobs_]. Excuse me.Hay fever.

THE WOMAN [_taking a tuning-fork from her girdle and holding it to herear; then speaking into space on one note, like a chorister intoninga psalm_] Burrin Pier Galway please send someone to take charge of adiscouraged shortliver who has escaped from his nurse male harmlessbabbles unintelligibly with moments of sense distressed hystericalforeign dress very funny has curious fringe of white sea-weed under hischin.

THE GENTLEMAN. This is a gross impertinence. An insult.

THE WOMAN [_replacing her tuning-fork and addressing the elderlygentleman_] These words mean nothing to me. In what capacity are youhere? How did you obtain permission to visit us?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_importantly_] Our Prime Minister, Mr BadgerBluebin, has come to consult the oracle. He is my son-in-law. We areaccompanied by his wife and daughter: my daughter and granddaughter. Imay mention that General Aufsteig, who is one of our party, is reallythe Emperor of Turania travelling incognito. I understand he has aquestion to put to the oracle informally. I have come solely to visitthe country.

THE WOMAN. Why should you come to a place where you have no business?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Great Heavens, madam, can anything be morenatural? I shall be the only member of the Travellers' Club who has setfoot on these shores. Think of that! My position will be unique.

THE WOMAN. Is that an advantage? We have a person here who has lost bothlegs in an accident. His position is unique. But he would much rather belike everyone else.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. This is maddening. There is no analogy whateverbetween the two cases.

THE WOMAN. They are both unique.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Conversation in this place seems to consist ofridiculous quibbles. I am heartily tired of them.

THE WOMAN. I conclude that your Travellers' Club is an assembly ofpersons who wish to be able to say that they have been in some placewhere nobody else has been.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Of Course if you wish to sneer at us--

THE WOMAN. What is sneer?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_with a wild sob_] I shall drown myself.

_He makes desperately for the edge of the pier, but is confronted bya man with the number one on his cap, who comes up the steps andintercepts him. He is dressed like the woman, but a slight moustacheproclaims his sex._

THE MAN [_to the elderly gentleman_] Ah, here you are. I shall reallyhave to put a collar and lead on you if you persist in giving me theslip like this.

THE WOMAN. Are you this stranger's nurse?

THE MAN. Yes. I am very tired of him. If I take my eyes off him for amoment, he runs away and talks to everybody.

THE WOMAN [_after taking out her tuning-fork and sounding it, intones asbefore_] Burrin Pier. Wash out. [_She puts up the fork, and addressesthe man_]. I sent a call for someone to take care of him. I have beentrying to talk to him; but I can understand very little of what he says.You must take better care of him: he is badly discouraged already. IfI can be of any further use, Fusima, Gort, will find me. [_She goesaway_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Any further use! She has been of no use to me.She spoke to me without any introduction, like any improper female. Andshe has made off with my shilling.

THE MAN. Please speak slowly. I cannot follow. What is a shilling? Whatis an introduction? Improper female doesnt make sense.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Nothing seems to make sense here. All I can tellyou is that she was the most impenetrably stupid woman I have ever metin the whole course of my life.

THE MAN. That cannot be. She cannot appear stupid to you. She is asecondary, and getting on for a tertiary at that.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. What is a tertiary? Everybody here keeps talkingto me about primaries and secondaries and tertiaries as if people weregeological strata.

THE MAN. The primaries are in their first century. The secondaries arein their second century. I am still classed as a primary [_he points tohis number_]; but I may almost call myself a secondary, as I shall beninety-five next January. The tertiaries are in their third century. Didyou not see the number two on her badge? She is an advanced secondary.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. That accounts for it. She is in her secondchildhood.

THE MAN. Her second childhood! She is in her fifth childhood.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_again resorting to the bollard_] Oh! I cannotbear these unnatural arrangements.

THE MAN [_impatient and helpless_] You shouldn't have come among us.This is no place for you.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_nerved by indignation_] May I ask why? I am aVice-President of the Travellers' Club. I have been everywhere: I holdthe record in the Club for civilized countries.

THE MAN. What is a civilized country?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. It is--well, it is a civilized country.[_Desperately_] I don't know: I--I--I--I shall go mad if you keep onasking me to tell you things that everybody knows. Countries where youcan travel comfortably. Where there are good hotels. Excuse me; but,though you say you are ninety-four, you are worse company than a childof five with your eternal questions. Why not call me Daddy at once?

THE MAN. That is five men's names. Daddy is shorter. And O.M. will notdo here. It is our name for certain wild creatures, descendants ofthe aboriginal inhabitants of this coast. They used to be called theO'Mulligans. We will stick to Daddy.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. People will think I am your father.

THE MAN [_shocked_] Sh-sh! People here never allude to suchrelationships. It is not quite delicate, is it? What does it matterwhether you are my father or not?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. My worthy nonagenarian friend: your faculties aretotally decayed. Could you not find me a guide of my own age?

THE MAN. A young person?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Certainly not. I cannot go about with a youngperson.

THE MAN. Why?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Why! Why!! Why!!! Have you no moral sense?

THE MAN. I shall have to give you up. I cannot understand you.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. But you meant a young woman, didn't you?

THE MAN. I meant simply somebody of your own age. What difference doesit make whether the person is a man or a woman?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I could not have believed in the existence ofsuch scandalous insensibility to the elementary decencies of humanintercourse.

THE MAN. What are decencies?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_shrieking_] Everyone asks me that.

THE MAN [_taking out a tuning-fork and using it as the woman did_] Zozimon Burrin Pier to Zoo Ennistymon I have found the discouraged shortliverhe has been talking to a secondary and is much worse I am too old he isasking for someone of his own age or younger come if you can. [_He putsup his fork and turns to the Elderly Gentleman_]. Zoo is a girl offifty, and rather childish at that. So perhaps she may make you happy.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Make me happy! A bluestocking of fifty! Thankyou.

THE MAN. Bluestocking? The effort to make out your meaning is fatiguing.Besides, you are talking too much to me: I am old enough to discourageyou. Let us be silent until Zoo comes. [_He turns his back on theElderly Gentleman, and sits down on the edge of the pier, with his legsdangling over the water_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Certainly. I have no wish to force myconversation on any man who does not desire it. Perhaps you would liketo take a nap. If so, pray do not stand on ceremony.

THE MAN. What is a nap?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_exasperated, going to him and speaking withgreat precision and distinctness_] A nap, my friend, is a brief periodof sleep which overtakes superannuated persons when they endeavor toentertain unwelcome visitors or to listen to scientific lectures. Sleep.Sleep. [_Bawling into his ear_] Sleep.

THE MAN. I tell you I am nearly a secondary. I never sleep.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_awestruck_] Good Heavens!

_A young woman with the number one on her cap arrives by land. She looksno older than Savvy Barnabas, whom she somewhat resembles, looked athousand years before. Younger, if anything._

THE YOUNG WOMAN. Is this the patient?

THE MAN [_scrambling up_] This is Zoo. [_To Zoo_] Call him Daddy.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_vehemently_] No.

THE MAN [_ignoring the interruption_] Bless you for taking him off myhands! I have had as much of him as I can bear. [_He goes down the stepsand disappears_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_ironically taking off his hat and making asweeping bow from the edge of the pier in the direction of theAtlantic Ocean_] Good afternoon, sir; and thank you very much for yourextraordinary politeness, your exquisite consideration for my feelings,your courtly manners. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. [_Clappinghis hat on again_] Pig! Ass!

ZOO [_laughs very heartily at him_]!!!

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_turning sharply on her_] Good afternoon, madam.I am sorry to have had to put your friend in his place; but I find thathere as elsewhere it is necessary to assert myself if I am to be treatedwith proper consideration. I had hoped that my position as a guest wouldprotect me from insult.

ZOO. Putting my friend in his place. That is some poetic expression, isit not? What does it mean?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Pray, is there no one in these islands whounderstands plain English?

ZOO. Well, nobody except the oracles. They have to make a specialhistorical study of what we call the dead thought.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Dead thought! I have heard of the dead languages,but never of the dead thought.

ZOO. Well, thoughts die sooner than languages. I understand yourlanguage; but I do not always understand your thought. The oracles willunderstand you perfectly. Have you had your consultation yet?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I did not come to consult the oracle, madam. I amhere simply as a gentleman travelling for pleasure in the company of mydaughter, who is the wife of the British Prime Minister, and of GeneralAufsteig, who, I may tell you in confidence, is really the Emperor ofTurania, the greatest military genius of the age.

ZOO. Why should you travel for pleasure! Can you not enjoy yourself athome?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I wish to see the World.

ZOO. It is too big. You can see a bit of it anywhere.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_out of patience_] Damn it, madam, you don't wantto spend your life looking at the same bit of it! [_Checking himself_] Ibeg your pardon for swearing in your presence.

ZOO. Oh! That is swearing, is it? I have read about that. It soundsquite pretty. Dammitmaddam, dammitmaddam, dammitmaddam, dammitmaddam.Say it as often as you please: I like it.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_expanding with intense relief_] Bless you forthose profane but familiar words! Thank you, thank you. For the firsttime since I landed in this terrible country I begin to feel at home.The strain which was driving me mad relaxes: I feel almost as if I wereat the club. Excuse my taking the only available seat: I am not so youngas I was. [_He sits on the bollard_]. Promise me that you will not handme over to one of these dreadful tertiaries or secondaries or whateveryou call them.

ZOO. Never fear. They had no business to give you in charge to Zozim.You see he is just on the verge of becoming a secondary; and theseadolescents will give themselves the airs of tertiaries. You naturallyfeel more at home with a flapper like me. [_She makes herselfcomfortable on the sacks_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Flapper? What does that mean?

ZOO. It is an archaic word which we still use to describe a female whois no longer a girl and is not yet quite adult.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. A very agreeable age to associate with, I find. Iam recovering rapidly. I have a sense of blossoming like a flower. May Iask your name?

ZOO. Zoo.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Miss Zoo.

ZOO. Not Miss Zoo. Zoo.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Precisely. Er--Zoo what?

ZOO. No. Not Zoo What. Zoo. Nothing but Zoo.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_puzzled_] Mrs Zoo, perhaps.

ZOO. No. Zoo. Cant you catch it? Zoo.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Of course. Believe me, I did not really think youwere married: you are obviously too young; but here it is so hard tofeel sure--er--

ZOO [_hopelessly puzzled_] What?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Marriage makes a difference, you know. One cansay things to a married lady that would perhaps be in questionable tasteto anyone without that experience.

ZOO. You are getting out of my depth: I dont understand a word you aresaying. Married and questionable taste convey nothing to me. Stop,though. Is married an old form of the word mothered?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Very likely. Let us drop the subject. Pardon mefor embarrassing you. I should not have mentioned it.

ZOO. What does embarrassing mean?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Well, really! I should have thought that sonatural and common a condition would be understood as long as humannature lasted. To embarrass is to bring a blush to the cheek.

ZOO. What is a blush?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_amazed_] Dont you blush???

ZOO. Never heard of it. We have a word flush, meaning a rush of blood tothe skin. I have noticed it in my babies, but not after the age of two.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Your babies!!! I fear I am treading on verydelicate ground; but your appearance is extremely youthful; and if I mayask how many--?

ZOO. Only four as yet. It is a long business with us. I specialize inbabies. My first was such a success that they made me go on. I--

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_reeling on the bollard_] Oh! dear!

ZOO. Whats the matter? Anything wrong?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. In Heaven's name, madam, how old are you?

ZOO. Fifty-six.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. My knees are trembling. I fear I am really ill.Not so young as I was.

ZOO. I noticed that you are not strong on your legs yet. You have manyof the ways and weaknesses of a baby. No doubt that is why I feel calledon to mother you. You certainly are a very silly little Daddy.

ZOO. What a ridiculously long name! I cant call you all that. What didyour mother call you?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. You recall the bitterest struggles of mychildhood. I was sensitive on the point. Children suffer greatly fromabsurd nicknames. My mother thoughtlessly called me Iddy Toodles. Iwas called Iddy until I went to school, when I made my first stand forchildren's rights by insisting on being called at least Joe. At fifteenI refused to answer to anything shorter than Joseph. At eighteen Idiscovered that the name Joseph was supposed to indicate an unmanlyprudery because of some old story about a Joseph who rejected theadvances of his employer's wife: very properly in my opinion. I thenbecame Popham to my family and intimate friends, and Mister Barlowto the rest of the world. My mother slipped back into Iddy when herfaculties began to fail her, poor woman; but I could not resent that, ather age.

ZOO. Do you mean to say that your mother bothered about you after youwere ten?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Naturally, madam. She was my mother. What wouldyou have had her do?

ZOO. Go on to the next, of course. After eight or nine children becomequite uninteresting, except to themselves. I shouldnt know my two eldestif I met them.

ZOO [_maternally_] Pow wow wow! What is there to shock you? [_Shakinghim playfully_] There! Sit up; and be good.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_still feebly_] Thank you. I am better now.

ZOO [_resuming her seat on the sacks_] But what was all the rest of thatlong name for? There was a lot more of it. Blops Booby or something.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_impressively_] Bolge Bluebin, madam: ahistorical name. Let me inform you that I can trace my family back formore than a thousand years, from the Eastern Empire to its ancient seatin these islands, to a time when two of my ancestors, Joyce Bolgeand Hengist Horsa Bluebin, wrestled with one another for the primeministership of the British Empire, and occupied that positionsuccessively with a glory of which we can in these degenerate days formbut a faint conception. When I think of these mighty men, lions in war,sages in peace, not babblers and charlatans like the pigmies who nowoccupy their places in Baghdad, but strong silent men, ruling an empireon which the sun never set, my eyes fill with tears: my heart burstswith emotion: I feel that to have lived but to the dawn of manhood intheir day, and then died for them, would have been a nobler and happierlot than the ignominious ease of my present longevity.

ZOO. Longevity! [_she laughs_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Yes, madam, relative longevity. As it is, I haveto be content and proud to know that I am descended from both thoseheroes.

ZOO. You must be descended from every Briton who was alive in theirtime. Dont you know that?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Do not quibble, madam. I bear their names, Bolgeand Bluebin; and I hope I have inherited something of their majesticspirit. Well, they were born in these islands. I repeat, these islandswere then, incredible as it now seems, the centre of the British Empire.When that centre shifted to Baghdad, and the Englishman at last returnedto the true cradle of his race in Mesopotamia, the western islands werecast off, as they had been before by the Roman Empire. But it was to theBritish race, and in these islands, that the greatest miracle in historyoccurred.

ZOO. Miracle?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Yes: the first man to live three hundred yearswas an Englishman. The first, that is, since the contemporaries ofMethuselah.

ZOO. Oh, that!

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Yes, that, as you call it so flippantly. Are youaware, madam, that at that immortal moment the English race had lostintellectual credit to such an extent that they habitually spoke ofone another as fatheads? Yet England is now a sacred grove to whichstatesmen from all over the earth come to consult English sages whospeak with the experience of two and a half centuries of life. The landthat once exported cotton shirts and hardware now exports nothing butwisdom. You see before you, madam, a man utterly weary of the week-endriverside hotels of the Euphrates, the minstrels and pierrots on thesands of the Persian Gulf, the toboggans and funiculars of the HindooKoosh. Can you wonder that I turn, with a hungry heart, to the mysteryand beauty of these haunted islands, thronged with spectres from a magicpast, made holy by the footsteps of the wise men of the West. Considerthis island on which we stand, the last foothold of man on this sideof the Atlantic: this Ireland, described by the earliest bards as anemerald gem set in a silver sea! Can I, a scion of the illustriousBritish race, ever forget that when the Empire transferred its seat tothe East, and said to the turbulent Irish race which it had oppressedbut never conquered, 'At last we leave you to yourselves; and much goodmay it do you,' the Irish as one man uttered the historic shout 'No:we'll be damned if you do,' and emigrated to the countries where therewas still a Nationalist question, to India, Persia, and Corea, toMorocco, Tunis, and Tripoli. In these countries they were everforemost in the struggle for national independence; and the world rangcontinually with the story of their sufferings and wrongs. And what poemcan do justice to the end, when it came at last? Hardly two hundredyears had elapsed when the claims of nationality were so universallyconceded that there was no longer a single country on the face of theearth with a national grievance or a national movement. Think of theposition of the Irish, who had lost all their political faculties bydisuse except that of nationalist agitation, and who owed their positionas the most interesting race on earth solely to their sufferings! Thevery countries they had helped to set free boycotted them as intolerablebores. The communities which had once idolized them as the incarnationof all that is adorable in the warm heart and witty brain, fled fromthem as from a pestilence. To regain their lost prestige, the Irishclaimed the city of Jerusalem, on the ground that they were the losttribes of Israel; but on their approach the Jews abandoned the cityand redistributed themselves throughout Europe. It was then that thesedevoted Irishmen, not one of whom had ever seen Ireland, were counselledby an English Archbishop, the father of the oracles, to go back to theirown country. This had never once occurred to them, because there wasnothing to prevent them and nobody to forbid them. They jumped at thesuggestion. They landed here: here in Galway Bay, on this very ground.When they reached the shore the older men and women flung themselvesdown and passionately kissed the soil of Ireland, calling on the youngto embrace the earth that had borne their ancestors. But the younglooked gloomily on, and said 'There is no earth, only stone.' You willsee by looking round you why they said that: the fields here are ofstone: the hills are capped with granite. They all left for England nextday; and no Irishman ever again confessed to being Irish, even to hisown children; so that when that generation passed away the Irish racevanished from human knowledge. And the dispersed Jews did the same lestthey should be sent back to Palestine. Since then the world, bereft ofits Jews and its Irish, has been a tame dull place. Is there no pathosfor you in this story? Can you not understand now why I am come to visitthe scene of this tragic effacement of a race of heroes and poets?

ZOO. We still tell our little children stories like that, to help themto understand. But such things do not happen really. That scene of theIrish landing here and kissing the ground might have happened to ahundred people. It couldn't have happened to a hundred thousand: youknow that as well as I do. And what a ridiculous thing to call peopleIrish because they live in Ireland! you might as well call them Airishbecause they live in air. They must be just the same as other people.Why do you shortlivers persist in making up silly stories about theworld and trying to act as if they were true? Contact with truth hurtsand frightens you: you escape from it into an imaginary vacuum in whichyou can indulge your desires and hopes and loves and hates without anyobstruction from the solid facts of life. You love to throw dust in yourown eyes.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. It is my turn now, madam, to inform you that I donot understand a single word you are saying. I should have thought thatthe use of a vacuum for removing dust was a mark of civilization ratherthan of savagery.

ZOO [_giving him up as hopeless_] Oh, Daddy, Daddy: I can hardly believethat you are human, you are so stupid. It was well said of your peoplein the olden days, 'Dust thou art; and to dust thou shalt return.'

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_nobly_] My body is dust, madam: not my soul.What does it matter what my body is made of? the dust of the ground,the particles of the air, or even the slime of the ditch? The importantthing is that when my Creator took it, whatever it was, He breathed intoits nostrils the breath of life; and Man became a living soul. Yes,madam, a living soul. I am not the dust of the ground: I am a livingsoul. That is an exalting, a magnificent thought. It is also a greatscientific fact. I am not interested in the chemicals and the microbes:I leave them to the chumps and noodles, to the blockheads and themuckrakers who are incapable of their own glorious destiny, andunconscious of their own divinity. They tell me there are leucocytesin my blood, and sodium and carbon in my flesh. I thank them for theinformation, and tell them that there are blackbeetles in my kitchen,washing soda in my laundry, and coal in my cellar. I do not deny theirexistence; but I keep them in their proper place, which is not, if I maybe allowed to use an antiquated form of expression, the temple of theHoly Ghost. No doubt you think me behind the times; but I rejoice in myenlightenment; and I recoil from your ignorance, your blindness, yourimbecility. Humanly I pity you. Intellectually I despise you.

ZOO. Bravo, Daddy! You have the root of the matter in you. You will notdie of discouragement after all.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I have not the smallest intention of doing so,madam. I am no longer young; and I have moments of weakness; but whenI approach this subject the divine spark in me kindles and glows, thecorruptible becomes incorruptible, and the mortal Bolge Bluebin Barlowputs on immortality. On this ground I am your equal, even if you surviveme by ten thousand years.

ZOO. Yes; but what do we know about this breath of life that puffs youup so exaltedly? Just nothing. So let us shake hands as cultivatedAgnostics, and change the subject.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Cultivated fiddlesticks, madam! You cannot changethis subject until the heavens and the earth pass away. I am not anAgnostic: I am a gentleman. When I believe a thing I say I believe it:when I don't believe it I say I don't believe it. I do not shirk myresponsibilities by pretending that I know nothing and therefore canbelieve nothing. We cannot disclaim knowledge and shirk responsibility.We must proceed on assumptions of some sort or we cannot form a humansociety.

ZOO. The assumptions must be scientific, Daddy. We must live by sciencein the long run.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I have the utmost respect, madam, for themagnificent discoveries which we owe to science. But any fool can makea discovery. Every baby has to discover more in the first years of itslife than Roger Bacon ever discovered in his laboratory. When I wasseven years old I discovered the sting of the wasp. But I do not askyou to worship me on that account. I assure you, madam, the merestmediocrities can discover the most surprising facts about the physicaluniverse as soon as they are civilized enough to have time to studythese things, and to invent instruments and apparatus for research. Butwhat is the consequence? Their discoveries discredit the simple storiesof our religion. At first we had no idea of astronomical space. Webelieved the sky to be only the ceiling of a room as large as the earth,with another room on top of it. Death was to us a going upstairs intothat room, or, if we did not obey the priests, going downstairs intothe coal cellar. We founded our religion, our morality, our laws, ourlessons, our poems, our prayers, on that simple belief. Well, the momentmen became astronomers and made telescopes, their belief perished. Whenthey could no longer believe in the sky, they found that they could nolonger believe in their Deity, because they had always thought of himas living in the sky. When the priests themselves ceased to believe intheir Deity and began to believe in astronomy, they changed their nameand their dress, and called themselves doctors and men of science. Theyset up a new religion in which there was no Deity, but only wondersand miracles, with scientific instruments and apparatus as the wonderworkers. Instead of worshipping the greatness and wisdom of the Deity,men gaped foolishly at the million billion miles of space and worshippedthe astronomer as infallible and omniscient. They built temples for histelescopes. Then they looked into their own bodies with microscopes, andfound there, not the soul they had formerly believed in, but millions ofmicro-organisms; so they gaped at these as foolishly as at the millionsof miles, and built microscope temples in which horrible sacrificeswere offered. They even gave their own bodies to be sacrificed by themicroscope man, who was worshipped, like the astronomer, as infallibleand omniscient. Thus our discoveries instead of increasing our wisdom,only destroyed the little childish wisdom we had. All I can grant you isthat they increased our knowledge.

ZOO. Nonsense! Consciousness of a fact is not knowledge of it: if itwere, the fish would know more of the sea than the geographers and thenaturalists.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. That is an extremely acute remark, madam. Thedullest fish could not possibly know less of the majesty of the oceanthan many geographers and naturalists of my acquaintance.

ZOO. Just so. And the greatest fool on earth, by merely looking at amariners' compass, may become conscious of the fact that the needleturns always to the pole. Is he any the less a fool with thatconsciousness than he was without it?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Only a more conceited one, madam, no doubt.Still, I do not quite see how you can be aware of the existence of athing without knowing it.

ZOO. Well, you can see a man without knowing him, can you not?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_illuminated_] Oh how true! Of course, of course.There is a member of the Travellers' Club who has questioned theveracity of an experience of mine at the South Pole. I see that manalmost every day when I am at home. But I refuse to know him.

ZOO. If you could see him much more distinctly through a magnifyingglass, or examine a drop of his blood through a microscope, or dissectout all his organs and analyze them chemically, would you know him then?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Certainly not. Any such investigation couldonly increase the disgust with which he inspires me, and make me moredetermined than ever not to know him on any terms.

ZOO. Yet you would be much more conscious of him, would you not?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I should not allow that to commit me to anyfamiliarity with the fellow. I have been twice at the Summer Sports atthe South Pole; and this man pretended he had been to the North Pole,which can hardly be said to exist, as it is in the middle of the sea. Hedeclared he had hung his hat on it.

ZOO [_laughing_] He knew that travellers are amusing only when they aretelling lies. Perhaps if you looked at that man through a microscope youwould find some good in him.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I do not want to find any good in him. Besides,madam, what you have just said encourages me to utter an opinion ofmine which is so advanced! so intellectually daring! that I have neverventured to confess to it before, lest I should be imprisoned forblasphemy, or even burnt alive.

ZOO. Indeed! What opinion is that?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_after looking cautiously round_] I do notapprove of microscopes. I never have.

ZOO. You call that advanced! Oh, Daddy, that is pure obscurantism.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Call it so if you will, madam; but I maintainthat it is dangerous to shew too much to people who do not know whatthey are looking at. I think that a man who is sane as long as he looksat the world through his own eyes is very likely to become a dangerousmadman if he takes to looking at the world through telescopes andmicroscopes. Even when he is telling fairy stories about giants anddwarfs, the giants had better not be too big nor the dwarfs too smalland too malicious. Before the microscope came, our fairy stories onlymade the children's flesh creep pleasantly, and did not frightengrown-up persons at all. But the microscope men terrified themselves andeveryone else out of their wits with the invisible monsters they saw:poor harmless little things that die at the touch of a ray of sunshine,and are themselves the victims of all the diseases they are supposed toproduce! Whatever the scientific people may say, imagination withoutmicroscopes was kindly and often courageous, because it worked on thingsof which it had some real knowledge. But imagination with microscopes,working on a terrifying spectacle of millions of grotesque creaturesof whose nature it had no knowledge, became a cruel, terror-stricken,persecuting delirium. Are you aware, madam, that a general massacreof men of science took place in the twenty-first century of thepseudo-Christian era, when all their laboratories were demolished, andall their apparatus destroyed?

ZOO. Yes: the shortlived are as savage in their advances as in theirrelapses. But when Science crept back, it had been taught its place. Themere collectors of anatomical or chemical facts were not supposed toknow more about Science than the collector of used postage stamps aboutinternational trade or literature. The scientific terrorist who wasafraid to use a spoon or a tumbler until he had dipt it in somepoisonous acid to kill the microbes, was no longer given titles,pensions, and monstrous powers over the bodies of other people: he wassent to an asylum, and treated there until his recovery. But all that isan old story: the extension of life to three hundred years has providedthe human race with capable leaders, and made short work of suchchildish stuff.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_pettishly_] You seem to credit every advance incivilization to your inordinately long lives. Do you not know that thisquestion was familiar to men who died before they had reached my ownage?

ZOO. Oh yes: one or two of them hinted at it in a feeble way. Anancient writer whose name has come down to us in several forms, suchas Shakespear, Shelley, Sheridan, and Shoddy, has a remarkable passageabout your dispositions being horridly shaken by thoughts beyond thereaches of your souls. That does not come to much, does it?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. At all events, madam, I may remind you, if youcome to capping ages, that whatever your secondaries and tertiaries maybe, you are younger than I am.

ZOO. Yes, Daddy; but it is not the number of years we have behind us,but the number we have before us, that makes us careful and responsibleand determined to find out the truth about everything. What does itmatter to you whether anything is true or not? your flesh is as grass:you come up like a flower, and wither in your second childhood. A liewill last your time: it will not last mine. If I knew I had to die intwenty years it would not be worth my while to educate myself: I shouldnot bother about anything but having a little pleasure while I lasted.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Young woman: you are mistaken. Shortlived as weare, we--the best of us, I mean--regard civilization and learning, artand science, as an ever-burning torch, which passes from the hand of onegeneration to the hand of the next, each generation kindling it to abrighter, prouder flame. Thus each lifetime, however short, contributesa brick to a vast and growing edifice, a page to a sacred volume, achapter to a Bible, a Bible to a literature. We may be insects; but likethe coral insect we build islands which become continents: like the beewe store sustenance for future communities. The individual perishes;but the race is immortal. The acorn of today is the oak of the nextmillennium. I throw my stone on the cairn and die; but later comers addanother stone and yet another; and lo! a mountain. I--

ZOO [_interrupts him by laughing heartily at him_]!!!!!!

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_with offended dignity_] May I ask what I havesaid that calls for this merriment?

ZOO. Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, you are a funny little man, with yourtorches, and your flames, and your bricks and edifices and pages andvolumes and chapters and coral insects and bees and acorns and stonesand mountains.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Metaphors, madam. Metaphors merely.

ZOO. Images, images, images. I was talking about men, not about images.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I was illustrating--not, I hope, quiteinfelicitously--the great march of Progress. I was shewing you how,shortlived as we orientals are, mankind gains in stature from generationto generation, from epoch to epoch, from barbarism to civilization, fromcivilization to perfection.

ZOO. I see. The father grows to be six feet high, and hands on his sixfeet to his son, who adds another six feet and becomes twelve feet high,and hands his twelve feet on to his son, who is full-grown at eighteenfeet, and so on. In a thousand years you would all be three or fourmiles high. At that rate your ancestors Bilge and Bluebeard, whom youcall giants, must have been about quarter of an inch high.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I am not here to bandy quibbles and paradoxeswith a girl who blunders over the greatest names in history. I am inearnest. I am treating a solemn theme seriously. I never said that theson of a man six feet high would be twelve feet high.

ZOO. You didn't mean that?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Most certainly not.

ZOO. Then you didn't mean anything. Now listen to me, you littleephemeral thing. I knew quite well what you meant by your torch handedon from generation to generation. But every time that torch is handedon, it dies down to the tiniest spark; and the man who gets it canrekindle it only by his own light. You are no taller than Bilge orBluebeard; and you are no wiser. Their wisdom, such as it was, perishedwith them: so did their strength, if their strength ever existed outsideyour imagination. I do not know how old you are: you look about fivehundred--

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Five hundred! Really, madam--

ZOO [_continuing_]; but I know, of course, that you are an ordinaryshortliver. Well, your wisdom is only such wisdom as a man can havebefore he has had experience enough to distinguish his wisdom from hisfolly, his destiny from his delusions, his--

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. In short, such wisdom as your own.

ZOO. No, no, no, no. How often must I tell you that we are made wise notby the recollections of our past, but by the responsibilities of ourfuture. I shall be more reckless when I am a tertiary than I am today.If you cannot understand that, at least you must admit that I havelearnt from tertiaries. I have seen their work and lived under theirinstitutions. Like all young things I rebelled against them; and intheir hunger for new lights and new ideas they listened to me andencouraged me to rebel. But my ways did not work; and theirs did; andthey were able to tell me why. They have no power over me except thatpower: they refuse all other power; and the consequence is that thereare no limits to their power except the limits they set themselves. Youare a child governed by children, who make so many mistakes and are sonaughty that you are in continual rebellion against them; and as theycan never convince you that they are right: they can govern you only bybeating you, imprisoning you, torturing you, killing you if you disobeythem without being strong enough to kill or torture them.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. That may be an unfortunate fact. I condemn it anddeplore it. But our minds are greater than the facts. We know better.The greatest ancient teachers, followed by the galaxy of Christs whoarose in the twentieth century, not to mention such comparatively modernspiritual leaders as Blitherinjam, Tosh, and Spiffkins, all taught thatpunishment and revenge, coercion and militarism, are mistakes, and thatthe golden rule--

ZOO. [_interrupting_] Yes, yes, yes, Daddy: we longlived people knowthat quite well. But did any of their disciples ever succeed ingoverning you for a single day on their Christ-like principles? Itis not enough to know what is good: you must be able to do it. Theycouldn't do it because they did not live long enough to find out howto do it, or to outlive the childish passions that prevented them fromreally wanting to do it. You know very well that they could only keeporder--such as it was--by the very coercion and militarism they weredenouncing and deploring. They had actually to kill one another forpreaching their own gospel, or be killed themselves.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. The blood of the martyrs, madam, is the seed ofthe Church.

ZOO. More images, Daddy! The blood of the shortlived falls on stonyground.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_rising, very testy_] You are simply mad on thesubject of longevity. I wish you would change it. It is rather personaland in bad taste. Human nature is human nature, longlived or shortlived,and always will be.

ZOO. Then you give up the idea of progress? You cry off the torch, andthe brick, and the acorn, and all the rest of it?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I do nothing of the sort. I stand for progressand for freedom broadening down from precedent to precedent.

ZOO. You are certainly a true Briton.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I am proud of it. But in your mouth I feel thatthe compliment hides some insult; so I do not thank you for it.

ZOO. All I meant was that though Britons sometimes say quite cleverthings and deep things as well as silly and shallow things, they alwaysforget them ten minutes after they have uttered them.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Leave it at that, madam: leave it at that.[_He sits down again_]. Even a Pope is not expected to be continuallypontificating. Our flashes of inspiration shew that our hearts are inthe right place.

ZOO. Of course. You cannot keep your heart in any place but the rightplace.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Tcha!

ZOO. But you can keep your hands in the wrong place. In your neighbor'spockets, for example. So, you see, it is your hands that really matter.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_exhausted_] Well, a woman must have the lastword. I will not dispute it with you.

ZOO. Good. Now let us go back to the really interesting subject of ourdiscussion. You remember? The slavery of the shortlived to images andmetaphors.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_aghast_] Do you mean to say, madam, that afterhaving talked my head off, and reduced me to despair and silence by yourintolerable loquacity, you actually propose to begin all over again? Ishall leave you at once.

ZOO. You must not. I am your nurse; and you must stay with me.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I absolutely decline to do anything of the sort[_he rises and walks away with marked dignity_].

ZOO [_using her tuning-fork_] Zoo on Burrin Pier to Oracle Police atEnnistymon have you got me?... What?... I am picking you up now but youare flat to my pitch.... Just a shade sharper.... That's better: still alittle more.... Got you: right. Isolate Burrin Pier quick.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_is heard to yell_] Oh!

ZOO [_still intoning_] Thanks.... Oh nothing serious I am nursing ashortliver and the silly creature has run away he has discouragedhimself very badly by gadding about and talking to secondaries and Imust keep him strictly to heel.

_The Elderly Gentleman returns, indignant._

ZOO. Here he is you can release the Pier thanks. Goodbye. [_She puts upher tuning-fork_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. This is outrageous. When I tried to step off thepier on to the road, I received a shock, followed by an attack of pinsand needles which ceased only when I stepped back on to the stones.

ZOO. Yes: there is an electric hedge there. It is a very old and verycrude method of keeping animals from straying.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. We are perfectly familiar with it in Baghdad,madam; but I little thought I should live to have it ignominiouslyapplied to myself. You have actually Kiplingized me.

ZOO. Kiplingized! What is that?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. About a thousand years ago there were two authorsnamed Kipling. One was an eastern and a writer of merit: the other,being a western, was of course only an amusing barbarian. He is said tohave invented the electric hedge. I consider that in using it on me youhave taken a very great liberty.

ZOO. What is a liberty?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_exasperated_] I shall not explain, madam. Ibelieve you know as well as I do. [_He sits down on the bollard indudgeon_].

ZOO. No: even you can tell me things I do not know. Havnt you noticedthat all the time you have been here we have been asking you questions?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Noticed it! It has almost driven me mad. Do yousee my white hair? It was hardly grey when I landed: there were patchesof its original auburn still distinctly discernible.

ZOO. That is one of the symptoms of discouragement. But have you noticedsomething much more important to yourself: that is, that you have neverasked us any questions, although we know so much more than you do?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I am not a child, madam. I believe I have hadoccasion to say that before. And I am an experienced traveller. I knowthat what the traveller observes must really exist, or he could notobserve it. But what the natives tell him is invariably pure fiction.

ZOO. Not here, Daddy. With us life is too long for telling lies. Theyall get found out. Youd better ask me questions while you have thechance.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. If I have occasion to consult the oracle I shalladdress myself to a proper one: to a tertiary: not to a primary flapperplaying at being an oracle. If you are a nurserymaid, attend to yourduties; and do not presume to ape your elders.

ZOO. [_rising ominously and reddening_] You silly--

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_thundering_] Silence! Do you hear! Hold yourtongue.

ZOO. Something very disagreeable is happening to me. I feel hot allover. I have a horrible impulse to injure you. What have you done to me?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_triumphant_] Aha! I have made you blush. Now youknow what blushing means. Blushing with shame!

ZOO. Whatever you are doing, it is something so utterly evil that if youdo not stop I will kill you.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_apprehending his danger_] Doubtless you think itsafe to threaten an old man--

ZOO [_fiercely_] Old! You are a child: an evil child. We kill evilchildren here. We do it even against our own wills by instinct. Takecare.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_rising with crestfallen courtesy_] I did notmean to hurt your feelings. I--[_swallowing the apology with an effort_]I beg your pardon. [_He takes off his hat, and bows_].

ZOO. What does that mean?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I withdraw what I said.

ZOO. How can you withdraw what you said?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I can say no more than that I am sorry.

ZOO. You have reason to be. That hideous sensation you gave me issubsiding; but you have had a very narrow escape. Do not attempt to killme again; for at the first sign in your voice or face I shall strike youdead.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. _I_ attempt to kill you! What a monstrousaccusation!

ZOO [_frowns_]!

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_prudently correcting himself_] I meanmisunderstanding. I never dreamt of such a thing. Surely you cannotbelieve that I am a murderer.

ZOO. I know you are a murderer. It is not merely that you threw words atme as if they were stones, meaning to hurt me. It was the instinct tokill that you roused in me. I did not know it was in my nature: neverbefore has it wakened and sprung out at me, warning me to kill or bekilled. I must now reconsider my whole political position. I am nolonger a Conservative.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_dropping his hat_] Gracious Heavens! you havelost your senses. I am at the mercy of a madwoman: I might have known itfrom the beginning. I can bear no more of this. [_Offering his chest forthe sacrifice_] Kill me at once; and much good may my death do you!

ZOO. It would be useless unless all the other shortlivers were killedat the same time. Besides, it is a measure which should be takenpolitically and constitutionally, not privately. However, I am preparedto discuss it with you.

ZOO. What good have our counsels ever done you? You come to us foradvice when you know you are in difficulties. But you never know you arein difficulties until twenty years after you have made the mistakes thatled to them; and then it is too late. You cannot understand our advice:you often do more mischief by trying to act on it than if you had beenleft to your own childish devices. If you were not childish you wouldnot come to us at all: you would learn from experience that yourconsultations of the oracle are never of any real help to you. You drawwonderful imaginary pictures of us, and write fictitious tales and poemsabout our beneficent operations in the past, our wisdom, our justice,our mercy: stories in which we often appear as sentimental dupes of yourprayers and sacrifices; but you do it only to conceal from yourselvesthe truth that you are incapable of being helped by us. Your PrimeMinister pretends that he has come to be guided by the oracle; but weare not deceived: we know quite well that he has come here so thatwhen he goes back he may have the authority and dignity of one who hasvisited the holy islands and spoken face to face with the ineffableones. He will pretend that all the measures he wishes to take for hisown purposes have been enjoined on him by the oracle.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. But you forget that the answers of the oraclecannot be kept secret or misrepresented. They are written andpromulgated. The Leader of the Opposition can obtain copies. All thenations know them. Secret diplomacy has been totally abolished.

ZOO. Yes: you publish documents; but they are garbled or forged. Andeven if you published our real answers it would make no difference,because the shortlived cannot interpret the plainest writings. Yourscriptures command you in the plainest terms to do exactly the contraryof everything your own laws and chosen rulers command and execute. Youcannot defy Nature. It is a law of Nature that there is a fixed relationbetween conduct and length of life.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. No, no, no. I had much rather discuss yourintention of withdrawing from the Conservative party. How theConservatives have tolerated your opinions so far is more than I canimagine: I can only conjecture that you have contributed very liberallyto the party funds. [_He picks up his hat, and sits down again_].

ZOO. Do not babble so senselessly: our chief political controversy isthe most momentous in the world for you and your like.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_interested_] Indeed? Pray, may I ask what it is?I am a keen politician, and may perhaps be of some use. [_He puts on hishat, cocking it slightly_].

ZOO. We have two great parties: the Conservative party and theColonization party. The Colonizers are of opinion that we shouldincrease our numbers and colonize. The Conservatives hold that we shouldstay as we are, confined to these islands, a race apart, wrapped up inthe majesty of our wisdom on a soil held as holy ground for us by anadoring world, with our sacred frontier traced beyond dispute by thesea. They contend that it is our destiny to rule the world, and thateven when we were shortlived we did so. They say that our power and ourpeace depend on our remoteness, our exclusiveness, our separation, andthe restriction of our numbers. Five minutes ago that was my politicalfaith. Now I do not think there should be any shortlived people at all.[_She throws herself again carelessly on the sacks_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Am I to infer that you deny my right to livebecause I allowed myself--perhaps injudiciously--to give you a slightscolding?

ZOO. Is it worth living for so short a time? Are you any good toyourself?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_stupent_] Well, upon my soul!

ZOO. It is such a very little soul. You only encourage the sin of pridein us, and keep us looking down at you instead of up to something higherthan ourselves.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Is not that a selfish view, madam? Think of thegood you do us by your oracular counsels!

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. I have never heard of any such law, madam.

ZOO. Well, you are hearing of it now.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Let me tell you that we shortlivers, as you callus, have lengthened our lives very considerably.

ZOO. How?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. By saving time. By enabling men to cross theocean in an afternoon, and to see and speak to one another when they arethousands of miles apart. We hope shortly to organize their labor, andpress natural forces into their service, so scientifically that theburden of labor will cease to be perceptible, leaving common men moreleisure than they will know what to do with.

ZOO. Daddy: the man whose life is lengthened in this way may be busierthan a savage; but the difference between such men living seventy yearsand those living three hundred would be all the greater; for to ashortliver increase of years is only increase of sorrow; but to along-liver every extra year is a prospect which forces him to stretchhis faculties to the utmost to face it. Therefore I say that we wholive three hundred years can be of no use to you who live less than ahundred, and that our true destiny is not to advise and govern you, butto supplant and supersede you. In that faith I now declare myself aColonizer and an Exterminator.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Oh, steady! steady! Pray! pray! Reflect, Iimplore you. It is possible to colonize without exterminating thenatives. Would you treat us less mercifully than our barbarousforefathers treated the Redskin and the Negro? Are we not, as Britons,entitled at least to some reservations?

ZOO. What is the use of prolonging the agony? You would perish slowlyin our presence, no matter what we did to preserve you. You were almostdead when I took charge of you today, merely because you had talked fora few minutes to a secondary. Besides, we have our own experience to goupon. Have you never heard that our children occasionally revert to theancestral type, and are born shortlived?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_eagerly_] Never. I hope you will not be offendedif I say that it would be a great comfort to me if I could be placed incharge of one of those normal individuals.

ZOO. Abnormal, you mean. What you ask is impossible: we weed them allout.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. When you say that you weed them out, you senda cold shiver down my spine. I hope you don't mean that you--thatyou--that you assist Nature in any way?

ZOO. Why not? Have you not heard the saying of the Chinese sage DeeNing, that a good garden needs weeding? But it is not necessary for usto interfere. We are naturally rather particular as to the conditions onwhich we consent to live. One does not mind the accidental loss of anarm or a leg or an eye: after all, no one with two legs is unhappybecause he has not three; so why should a man with one be unhappybecause he has not two? But infirmities of mind and temper are quiteanother matter. If one of us has no self-control, or is too weak to bearthe strain of our truthful life without wincing, or is tormented bydepraved appetites and superstitions, or is unable to keep free frompain and depression, he naturally becomes discouraged, and refuses tolive.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Good Lord! Cuts his throat, do you mean?

ZOO. No: why should he cut his throat? He simply dies. He wants to. Heis out of countenance, as we call it.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Well!!! But suppose he is depraved enough not towant to die, and to settle the difficulty by killing all the rest ofyou?

ZOO. Oh, he is one of the thoroughly degenerate shortlivers whom weoccasionally produce. He emigrates.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. And what becomes of him then?

ZOO. You shortlived people always think very highly of him. You accepthim as what you call a great man.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. You astonish me; and yet I must admit that whatyou tell me accounts for a great deal of the little I know of theprivate life of our great men. We must be very convenient to you as adumping place for your failures.

ZOO. I admit that.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Good. Then if you carry out your plan ofcolonization, and leave no shortlived countries in the world, what willyou do with your undesirables?

ZOO. Kill them. Our tertiaries are not at all squeamish about killing.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Gracious Powers!

ZOO [_glancing up at the sun_] Come. It is just sixteen o'clock; and youhave to join your party at half-past in the temple in Galway.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_rising_] Galway! Shall I at last be able toboast of having seen that magnificent city?

ZOO. You will be disappointed: we have no cities. There is a temple ofthe oracle: that is all.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Alas! and I came here to fulfil twolong-cherished dreams. One was to see Galway. It has been said, 'SeeGalway and die.' The other was to contemplate the ruins of London.

ZOO. Ruins! We do not tolerate ruins. Was London a place of anyimportance?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_amazed_] What! London! It was the mightiest cityof antiquity. [_Rhetorically_] Situate just where the Dover Road crossesthe Thames, it--

ZOO [_curtly interrupting_] There is nothing there now. Why shouldanybody pitch on such a spot to live? The nearest houses are at a placecalled Strand-on-the-Green: it is very old. Come. We shall go across thewater. [_She goes down the steps_].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Sic transit gloria mundi!

ZOO [_from below_] What did you say?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [_despairingly_] Nothing. You would notunderstand. [_He goes down the steps_].

ACT II

_A courtyard before the columned portico of a temple. The temple dooris in the middle of the portico. A veiled and robed woman of majesticcarriage passes along behind the columns towards the entrance. From theopposite direction a man of compact figure, clean-shaven, saturnine, andself-centred: in short, very like Napoleon I, and wearing a militaryuniform of Napoleonic cut, marches with measured steps; places his handin his lapel in the traditional manner; and fixes the woman with hiseye. She stops, her attitude expressing haughty amazement at hisaudacity. He is on her right: she on his left._

NAPOLEON [_impressively_] I am the Man of Destiny.

THE VEILED WOMAN [_unimpressed_] How did you get in here?

NAPOLEON. I walked in. I go on until I am stopped. I never am stopped. Itell you I am the Man of Destiny.

THE VEILED WOMAN. You will be a man of very short destiny if you wanderabout here without one of our children to guide you. I suppose youbelong to the Baghdad envoy.

NAPOLEON. I came with him; but I do not belong to him. I belong tomyself. Direct me to the oracle if you can. If not, do not waste mytime.

THE VEILED WOMAN. Your time, poor creature, is short. I will not wasteit. Your envoy and his party will be here presently. The consultation ofthe oracle is arranged for them, and will take place according to theprescribed ritual. You can wait here until they come [_she turns to gointo the temple_].

NAPOLEON. I never wait. [_She stops_]. The prescribed ritual is,I believe, the classical one of the pythoness on her tripod, theintoxicating fumes arising from the abyss, the convulsions of thepriestess as she delivers the message of the God, and so on. That sortof thing does not impose on me: I use it myself to impose on simpletons.I believe that what is, is. I know that what is not, is not. The anticsof a woman sitting on a tripod and pretending to be drunk do notinterest me. Her words are put into her mouth, not by a god, but by aman three hundred years old, who has had the capacity to profit by hisexperience. I wish to speak to that man face to face, without mummery orimposture.

THE VEILED WOMAN. You seem to be an unusually sensible person. But thereis no old man. I am the oracle on duty today. I am on my way to take myplace on the tripod, and go through the usual mummery, as you rightlycall it, to impress your friend the envoy. As you are superior to thatkind of thing, you may consult me now. [_She leads the way into themiddle of the courtyard_]. What do you want to know?

NAPOLEON [_following her_] Madam: I have not come all this way todiscuss matters of State with a woman. I must ask you to direct me toone of your oldest and ablest men.

THE ORACLE. None of our oldest and ablest men or women would dream ofwasting their time on you. You would die of discouragement in theirpresence in less than three hours.

NAPOLEON. You can keep this idle fable of discouragement for peoplecredulous enough to be intimidated by it, madam. I do not believe inmetaphysical forces.

THE ORACLE. No one asks you to. A field is something physical, is itnot. Well, I have a field.

NAPOLEON. I have several million fields. I am Emperor of Turania.

THE ORACLE. You do not understand. I am not speaking of an agriculturalfield. Do you not know that every mass of matter in motion carries withit an invisible gravitational field, every magnet an invisible magneticfield, and every living organism a mesmeric field? Even you have aperceptible mesmeric field. Feeble as it is, it is the strongest I haveyet observed in a shortliver.

NAPOLEON. By no means feeble, madam. I understand you now; and I maytell you that the strongest characters blench in my presence, and submitto my domination. But I do not call that a physical force.

THE ORACLE. What else do you call it, pray? Our physicists deal with it.Our mathematicians express its measurements in algebraic equations.

NAPOLEON. Do you mean that they could measure mine?

THE ORACLE. Yes: by a figure infinitely near to zero. Even in us theforce is negligible during our first century of life. In our second itdevelops quickly, and becomes dangerous to shortlivers who venture intoits field. If I were not veiled and robed in insulating material youcould not endure my presence; and I am still a young woman: one hundredand seventy if you wish to know exactly.

NAPOLEON [_folding his arms_] I am not intimidated: no woman alive, oldor young, can put me out of countenance. Unveil, madam. Disrobe. Youwill move this temple as easily as shake me.

NAPOLEON. Ouf! One cannot always be at one's best. Twice before in mylife I have lost my nerve and behaved like a poltroon. But I warn younot to judge my quality by these involuntary moments.

THE ORACLE. I have no occasion to judge of your quality. You want myadvice. Speak quickly; or I shall go about my business.

NAPOLEON [_After a moment's hesitation, sinks respectfully on one knee_]I--

THE ORACLE. Oh, rise, rise. Are you so foolish as to offer me thismummery which even you despise?

NAPOLEON [_rising_] I knelt in spite of myself. I compliment you on yourimpressiveness, madam.

THE ORACLE [_impatiently_] Time! time! time! time!

NAPOLEON. You will not grudge me the necessary time, madam, when youknow my case. I am a man gifted with a certain specific talent in adegree altogether extraordinary. I am not otherwise a very extraordinaryperson: my family is not influential; and without this talent I shouldcut no particular figure in the world.

THE ORACLE. Why cut a figure in the world?

NAPOLEON. Superiority will make itself felt, madam. But when I say Ipossess this talent I do not express myself accurately. The truth isthat my talent possesses me. It is genius. It drives me to exercise it.I must exercise it. I am great when I exercise it. At other moments I amnobody.

THE ORACLE. Well, exercise it. Do you need an oracle to tell you that?

NAPOLEON. Wait. This talent involves the shedding of human blood.

THE ORACLE. Are you a surgeon, or a dentist?

NAPOLEON. Psha! You do not appreciate me, madam. I mean the shedding ofoceans of blood, the death of millions of men.

THE ORACLE. They object, I suppose.

NAPOLEON. Not at all. They adore me.

THE ORACLE. Indeed!

NAPOLEON. I have never shed blood with my own hand. They kill eachother: they die with shouts of triumph on their lips. Those who diecursing do not curse me. My talent is to organize this slaughter; togive mankind this terrible joy which they call glory; to let loose thedevil in them that peace has bound in chains.

THE ORACLE. And you? Do you share their joy?

NAPOLEON. Not at all. What satisfaction is it to me to see one foolpierce the entrails of another with a bayonet? I am a man of princelycharacter, but of simple personal tastes and habits. I have the virtuesof a laborer: industry and indifference to personal comfort. But I mustrule, because I am so superior to other men that it is intolerable tome to be misruled by them. Yet only as a slayer can I become a ruler. Icannot be great as a writer: I have tried and failed. I have no talentas a sculptor or painter; and as lawyer, preacher, doctor, or actor,scores of second-rate men can do as well as I, or better. I am not evena diplomatist: I can only play my trump card of force. What I can dois to organize war. Look at me! I seem a man like other men, becausenine-tenths of me is common humanity. But the other tenth is a facultyfor seeing things as they are that no other man possesses.

THE ORACLE. You mean that you have no imagination?

NAPOLEON [_forcibly_] I mean that I have the only imagination worthhaving: the power of imagining things as they are, even when I cannot